The Ripper Reborn
by M.J. Siciliano
Summary: A crazed Jack the Ripper fanatic leads New York's finest in a game of cat and mouse as he reenacts the infamous serial killer's murders.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** This is a short story I'm writing while I'm taking a break from "The Chronicles of Elge." Don't worry, those of you who have been reading The Chronicles. I will continue it soon. This is just a side-project for the time being, and as I have said, is only going to be a short story. Nothing too long. Enjoy.

Written by M.J. Siciliano

**The Ripper Reborn**

"Eight little whores, with no hope of heaven,  
Gladstone may save one, then there'll be seven.  
Seven little whores beggin for a shilling,  
One stays in Henage Court, then there's a killing.  
Six little whores, glad to be alive,  
One sidles up to Jack, then there are five.  
Four and whore rhyme aright,  
So do three and me,  
I'll set the town alight  
Ere there are two.  
Two little whores, shivering with fright,  
Seek a cosy doorway in the middle of the night.  
Jack's knife flashes, then there's but one,  
And the last one's the ripest for Jack's idea of fun."

_A letter allegedly written by Jack the Ripper to the Whitechapel police; no date available._

**Prologue**

_The New York Times, _Saturday,July 2,2005

**Bizarre Murder Committed On 52nd Street**

_NEW YORK CITY _– The mutilated body of twenty-seven year old Victoria Sweeny was discovered sprawled behind several dumpsters in an alleyway on 52nd street. The landlord of the apartment building right next door discovered the body when he went out on Friday morning to dispose of his trash. He told investigators that he "smelt something awful coming from behind the dumpster" and that he at first paid no attention to it, claiming that "...it was just trash, after all. It's supposed to smell bad." It wasn't until he was going back inside when he noticed a dried-up puddle of blood at the base of the dumpster.

Mr. Mitchell, 42, immediately called the police after he had seen the body. The NYPD rushed over to investigate the scene and the body before taking it away. The body of Ms. Sweeny, who was reportedly a prostitute around Central Park, was found nearly naked with a large cut going across her entire neck, through her Adam's apple. Other minor cuts and bruises littered her body as well, but nothing as severe as the gash upon her neck. It was suggested that the killer had "raped Ms. Sweeny before brutally slitting her throat," the police said. Upon further investigation of the scene, the police found what appeared to be a message written at the very base of the apartment building, where Ms. Sweeny was found. It was very small and almost unnoticeable, and was later discovered to have been written in Ms. Sweeny's very own blood. The message was short but baffling, and simply read, "I'm back."

The police will further investigate this case in hopes of tracking down this killer before – and if – he strikes again.

_The New York Times_, Wednesday, July 6, 2005

**Another Victim, Another Clue**

_NEW YORK CITY – _The body of twenty-five year old Marissa Harbinger was found on the morning of July 5, in Central Park, by a couple who were simply passing through. The Husband, Mr. Dane, 45, told the police, "My wife and I were just out for our usual walk when she noticed something in the bushes. It looked like a red sweater of some sort. And it wasn't until we approached the bushes that a horrible stench came over us, and we noticed what was actually inside." Ms. Harbinger was stripped of all of her clothes except for that red sweater that Mr. Dane and his wife saw, and much like recent victim Victoria Sweeny, Ms. Harbinger had a large cut across her neck with other minor scratches on her body. Police firmly believe that it was the work of the same person.

What's more baffling to the police is that unlike Ms. Sweeny, Ms. Harbinger's mouth was taped shut, and it appears as if she had been bleeding profusely from her vagina. Doctors determined that something sharp had been forcibly inserted into her vagina, and then turned several times before being pulled out. Police Chief Manuel Gonzalez told reporters, "We've established a common theme with this one, and that is he's targeting prostitutes around the Central Park district. As well, he takes pleasure in raping these women before he kills them, much in the same fashion, by slitting their throats. The other cuts and scratches on their bodies appear to have been caused by a struggle between the killer and his victims, but this man, or woman, is obviously stronger than Ms. Sweeny and Ms. Harbinger were."

One last thing left the police baffled even more so. Another message was left at the scene, this time written on what was an old, torn piece of paper, likewise, in Ms. Harbinger's blood. The message read, "Tell Mr. Lusk I said hello."

_The New York Times, _Friday, July 8, 2005

**George Lusk and the "Autumn of Terror"**

_NEW YORK CITY_ – After several days of confusion, police Chief Manuel Gonzalez has discovered a small break-through in the Central Park murders. The killer's latest message to the police stated, "Tell Mr. Lusk I said hello." After extensive research into who Mr. Lusk was, Officer Drake Nickolai came across the name. George Lusk was the president of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee in 1888 in London, during the time of the Whitechapel killing spree done by the infamous Jack the Ripper. Upon this discovery, police Chief Gonzalez instantly regarded the recent killings of the two prostitutes as "history in the re-making."

He immediately held a press conference to the public, addressing this matter. "We believe that this serial killer has some obsession with the 19th century murderer known only as Jack the Ripper. He kills in the same fashion, and much like Jack the Ripper, is taunting the police with messages and letters. We also have come to the conclusion that this person suffers from schizophrenia, as he believes himself to be _the_ Jack the Ripper, suggested by his first message, which read "I'm back." Myself, along with the rest of the force, wish only for your safety, and that is why we are asking everyone to remain cautious; never go out alone at night during this time. If he is following in Jack the Ripper's footsteps, then it is suspected he will only target prostitutes. But there is no telling what he truly has in mind, which is why we are asking everyone to be on their guard in the next few weeks, at least until we catch this man."

Chief Gonzalez immediately left the scene after he finished speaking, as Officer Nickolai took the podium for questions from the press.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_I'd always dreamed of being a Detective, that's why when I was finally given the position, I nearly fainted. I've had several cases since then, mostly murders and the like, but nothing compared to what I was up against now. It's like we were chasing **the** Jack the Ripper, right here in New York City._

Detective Albert Cardoso sat at his desk going over the two files of the recent Jack the Ripper wannabe victims. He was an amateur, if anything. To Detective Cardoso, it seemed like this killer wanted to be just like old Jack, in every way, shape and form. And the only way the police would be able to catch him is if they studied Jack's techniques. Cardoso's door opened rather abruptly as Chief Gonzalez walked in, followed by Officer's Drake Nickolai and Todd Hinson. Manuel Gonzalez was a tall, very built man of Puerto Rican decent. Short black hair, black eyes and very tan skin. He was a person to be reckoned with, and obviously perfect for his position as Chief.

He walked hastily to the front of Detective Cardoso's desk, his voice demanding respect every time he spoke.

"Find out anything else, Albert?" He had a very slight accent, but otherwise was perfectly understandable.

Albert, on the other hand, had a heavier accent, being of Cuban decent. Same skin tone as Manuel, however much smaller and less built.

"Not much more than your boys have already found. I've just been going over the similarities of the two victims, and of his pattern of killing. Nothing new."

Nickolai and Hinson stood quietly in the background behind Manuel, as the two men continued talking.

"Haven't heard anything new, have you?" questioned Detective Cardoso. "I mean, he hasn't struck again, right?"

Manuel responded, his eyes gazing down at the pictures of the two women who had been killed. "Nope, nothing new as of yet. I don't doubt at all that we'll hear from "Jacky-boy" very soon, though. He doesn't like to waste time, seeing as how he killed both these girls in less than a week. "

"Hoping for another message from him? Another clue, maybe?" asked Detective Cardoso.

"Anything that'll get us closer." Responded Manuel before he lifted his eyes from the pictures, now towards Albert. "Listen, Albert. Keep going over this stuff; tell us anything that you find out. _Anything_. I'll be in my office."

Detective Cardoso nodded as the three officers left the room, Manuel closing the door behind him. Albert sighed, now looking over the pictures again momentarily before he opened his desk and pulled out an old, worn-out book. He placed it on his desk over the pictures and opened it up to a random page, now searching through it for something in particular. It was a book of all old case files from around the world, not only in New York. As he found his spot, among the many files regarding Jack the Ripper, he studied the photocopied letters that had been allegedly sent to the Whitechapel police by Jack. There had been hundreds of letters sent, and nearly all of them were later deemed hoaxes.

Some in particular made the police question the authenticity of them, however, as one letter, titled the "Dear Boss" letter proved very true. On September 27, 1888, the Central News Agency received this letter. At first it was believed to be a mere hoax, but three days later, the double murder of Stride and Eddowes made them reconsider, especially once they learned a portion of the latter's earlobe was found cut off from the body, eerily reminiscent of a promise made within the letter. This was also the first written reference in which the murderer uses the name "Jack the Ripper." The letter read, in its exactness:

_"Dear Boss,  
I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck._

_Yours truly  
Jack the Ripper_

_Dont mind me giving the trade name_

_PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha"_

Albert might have read the letter three or four more times, had he not been interrupted suddenly after finishing it the first time. Chief Gonzalez opened the door quickly, calling out to Albert.

"Get off your ass, Albert. Our boy struck again, and we want you out there this time, to investigate the scene in person."

"Where?" Albert asked, standing up from the chair now.

"Where else? Central Park. Our boy's a real Jack the Ripper freak, killing in one area just as he did. So hurry up, get your shit together and let's go."

Manuel left the office, leaving the door opened, as Albert walked around his desk and pulled off his brown hat from the rack near the doorway. Placing it on his head, he looked back towards the case files book, if only for a moment, before turning and leaving his office, closing the door behind him.

_I'd always dreamed of being a Detective, that's why when I was finally given the position, I nearly fainted. I've had several cases since then, mostly murders and the like, but nothing compared to what I was up against now. It's like we were chasing **the** Jack the Ripper, right here in New York City._


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_During the short drive to Central Park, I questioned myself and the rest of the police force. That is, I really doubted any of us knew what the hell we were doing. This Jack wannabe killed in broad daylight; it was only three in the afternoon. How the **hell** can we not find this guy? And how does no body notice this happening? It's like he's invisible or something. It's really weird._

As they approached the scene, several other officers were already there investigating the area and questioning any possible witnesses. Every person said the same thing, "I didn't see anyone." Detective Cardoso and Chief Manuel stepped out from the car, now approaching the other officers. Officer Nicholas Lloyd was covering up the body of the recent victim, who was, once again, a prostitute.

"Do whatever it is you do, Albert. I'm going to help these officers with questioning."

Albert nodded to Manuel and walked over to the body, as Officer Lloyd had just finished covering her face. He asked cautiously, "Can I see it?"

Nicholas starred up at Albert with a look in his eyes as if saying, "You really wanna see something this hideous?"

"Yeah, sure Detective, " said Officer Lloyd before he pulled the cloth off of the woman's body once again. A sudden overwhelming stench came up as the cover was removed, causing the two men to cover their nose.

"Jesus...what the hell." Whispered Albert. This was definitely the most gruesome of the three victims.

Unlike the previous two, this one was completely naked. No ounce of clothing covering her frail, young body. It looked as if "Jack" had some fun with this one long after she was dead. The only similarity she bared with the previous two victims is that her cause of death was a clean cut across her neck. Otherwise, it was a whole different scenario. The body was found not even a mile away from the second victim, Marissa Harbinger, except this woman was found beneath a tree. Her stomach looked as if it had been torn open with a sharp object; a knife, police suspected. Her innards had been pulled out and made a bloody mess all over the grass. Albert thought he would vomit just from looking at it.

"Her name's Roxanne Diamond, " said Officer Lloyd. "Although her clothes weren't on her, we found her wallet just lying on the grass beside her head. Ton of money in there, and a bunch of credit cards and other stuff, so it's safe to assume this killer isn't out there for money. It's on the bench over there if you care to look at it, in the bag labeled 'A."

Albert nodded, replying, "Thanks," before Officer Lloyd stood and began walking away.

"Let me know when you're done here, " he said before he walked over to the other officers.

"Yes, of course." Answered Albert, as he continued starring down at the body.

He noticed now, upon her forehead, was a small cross, which looked as if it had been carved in with a knife. Her eyes were shut, and her mouth agape with dried blood all over her face. Albert wrote something down in a small notepad in which he pulled from his left pocket before closing the pad up again and placing it back into the pocket. He went down to almost a knee, getting a closer look at the body. The stench was unbearable, but he tried to ignore it.

_No note this time_, he thought. _What are you trying to do?_

Albert stood and walked over to the bench, where he found, just as Officer Lloyd had said, the woman's wallet inside a plastic bag. In other bags along the bench were a cell phone, a pair of keys and a pen, which had all been found lying on the floor beside the body when the police arrived. From his right pocket, he removed a pair of black leather gloves and picked up the bag, now removing the wallet. He opened it and examined it briefly, before he took out her Driver's license. It read:

NEW YORK STATE 

DRIVER LICENSE

DOB: **03-27-83**

**DIAMOND, ROXANNE**

**24 LEXINGTON AVE**

**MANHATTAN, NY**

SEX: **F** EYES: **BR** HT: **5-07 **CLASS: **D**

E: R: **B**

ISSUED: **09-19-00** EXPIRES: **03-26-06**

_She was only 22. Jesus Christ..._

He placed the license back into the wallet, and the wallet back into the bag before he walked back over to the body. Slipping his gloves off, he took one last look at the woman.

"_Why?_" he questioned to himself, before he called back Officer Lloyd so he could take the body away. Accompanying him were two paramedics now, who, after Roxanne's body was covered and placed in a body bag, took her away in an ambulance. It would be at this moment when Albert would notice something in the grass, underneath where Roxanne had been. Soaked in blood was a note left by the killer.

_My God, he did leave another one..._

Albert dropped to one knee and, putting his gloves back on, lifted up the note. He called over to Manuel, who was now talking to another officer. Manuel hurried over and looked at the note over Albert's shoulders.

"What's it say?" he asked, anxious. The note was almost illegible, as it had many spelling and grammar mistakes. Not only that, but it was completely covered in blood. Albert tried as best as he could to read it aloud:

_"Mr Gonzales,_

_Are you havin fun yet? I kno I am this iz so much fun for me. This whore wuz very preedy but I had to kill hur. I hav to kill them all. You kan keep loking for me if you want but you wont find me I kan asure you. See you soon._

_signed jack the ripper_

_ps I hope you lyk to play katch becuz youll never katch me"_

Albert looked up to Manuel, who seemed more confused than ever. Officer Hinson, who had followed Manuel when he came before suddenly spoke.

"He's taunting us. Sick bastard..."

"He's doing more than taunting us," Albert said as he stood up now, holding the note in his right hand. "He's doing exactly what Jack the Ripper did. He knows exactly what to do, how to do it, when to do it, and where. If we want to catch this guy, we're going to have to memorize Jack's patterns, and what he did. This person truly believes that he _is_ Jack the Ripper, so let's treat him like it."

"So treat him like he really is Jack the Ripper? That's absurd!" beckoned Manuel.

"Yes, but sometimes it's the only thing that works." Responded Albert before he walked back over towards the bench and placed the bloody note in an empty bag.

Now calling out to Albert, Manuel said, "Wait...what do we do now?"

Albert sighed and responded hesitantly, "We wait. Until old Jacky-boy strikes again."

Manuel looked at Albert with disgust, as if suggesting he was not happy with the plan.

"Unless you have something better Chief, then we will wait."

Much to Manuel's displeasure, he knew Albert was right. They didn't know where Jack was, or whom he was going to attack next. And if he was fearless enough to do it in broad daylight, risking the chance of being seen – which, as a matter of fact, still baffled Manuel, being that no one saw it happen – then there was no telling what else he would do.

"All right, Albert. We will wait. I don't like the idea, but there isn't anything else we can do yet."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_I shan't be long, mother. My work is almost done._

A tall, heavily clothed man entered a bar at the corner of East 87 Street near Central Park. It was slightly crowded, the majority of people having already had more than enough to drink. The man, a top hat upon his head, was dressed in a very clean black tuxedo, with a white formal shirt underneath and a red tie. Around his back was a cape accessory that attached to the shoulders of the tux, and on his hands were black leather gloves. He looked like something out of a 19th century book; very sophisticated, however, out of place. He took a seat at the bar, observing his surroundings before he was greeted by the bar tender, a youthful woman who could not have been any older than twenty-five. She had pale, soft skin, long black hair and light blue eyes, with a gentle voice to top it all off.

"Can I get you anything sir?" The woman asked the well-dressed man.

"Not yet, miss, I shan't be drinking just yet. Give me a moment, please?"

"Uh, okay buddy. Well, when you want something, just call out my name. It's Rebekah. I'll be over there, " the woman said as she pointed to the opposite end of the bar before leaving for that position.

The man gave a nodding gesture before he once again took in his surroundings. He set his sights on a lovely young woman who sat merely three stools to his left. She was not very big; though she had to have been at least 19 years old, no less. She had long brown hair, down to her mid-back, hazel eyes, tan skin and a pretty face; and best of all, she was alone. She was scantily clad though, revealing lots of skin, mostly legs, arms and cleavage.

_Four and whore rhyme aright; I shan't be long, mother._

"Excuse me, young lady. Are you alone on this fine Monday evening?"

The woman quirked and eyebrow at him before responding. Her voice was of an insulting, almost degrading tone. "What do you care, buddy?"

"My apologies, please. I do not mean to be rude; I simply was wondering if you were alone, is all. If you would care to grace me with your presence for a drink?"

She studied over his appearance, and her first judgment of him was, "_Damn, he's rich. Lindsay, ol' girl, you've hit it big tonight."_

"Sure, buddy. Take a seat right here next to me. Why don't you buy be a drink, mmkay?"

The man smiled, ecstatically moving over to sit beside the woman. He called Rebekah over and ordered a drink for himself and for the woman. The young lady questioned him now, in a more friendly tone. "So, what's your name, hun?"

"Oh, it's Thomas."

"Tommy, yeah? My name's Lindsay."

Thomas smiled with glee, handing the drink to her once Rebekah brought it over.

Lindsay asked, straight out. "So, how much money you got?"

Thomas seemed a bit caught off guard, nearly choking on his drink. "Pardon me?"

"How much money do you have? That's why you're here, right? You want some fun, I need some money. So, how much you got?"

"Enough," said Thomas, suddenly in a serious tone. "I have enough for the whole night."

Lindsay raised her brows now in a surprised look. "Well, that will be interesting. But I only work for two hours at most per person. So, you're gonna have to cope."

"No, you see," said Thomas, taking another swig of his drink. "I've got enough for the whole time, and I'm willing to give it all to you, plus more if you wish, for the entire night. Do you want the money?"

Lindsay looked away for a moment, biting her lip as if contemplating what to do. She finally agreed, "Okay, the whole night. But just for the money." She took another sip before continuing, "You're going to have some fun tonight, Tommy-boy. I can assure you that." She smiled before she finished the rest of the drink.

Thomas grinned as he watched her, whispering under his breath, "It's what I have planned."

The two continued to talk with each other for several hours, as Thomas continued ordering drinks for Lindsay. He, however, opted to stop after the first one. Lindsay was too concerned with the money she was offered that she didn't realize how drunk she was getting. And all the while, Thomas kept the drinks coming.

Rebekah finally voiced her concern, "You sure she's okay, pal? She looks a little...smashed."

"Oh, do not worry dear Rebekah. I am a good friend of hers, I shall take her home upon my leave."

"Well, okay..." responded Rebekah, still sounding concerned as she walked to the other end of the bar.

Lindsay spoke, her words all mumbled and incoherent. "Maybe I should...stop drin-" She hiccupped before finishing, "drinking."

"If you wish, my precious. As a matter of fact, that would be for the best. We have some business to attend to." Thomas took her hand as he stood up from the stool and led her outside. It was nearly 1AM. Rebekah called over to him before he left, "Take care, ok pal? And make sure she gets home safe."

"Of course, my dear. This young lady is going home very shortly."

Thomas snickered as he turned away from Rebekah before exiting the bar. Lindsay was nearly hanging onto him, with her arms wrapped around his neck. He had his hands around her as well, to support her up, as he walked down the sidewalk. Lindsay was muttering to herself all the while, most of it mindless dribble that made no sense. She did, however, direct something to Thomas. It was a bit frank, to say the least.

"I'm going to fuck you good, Tommy. Don't you worry; this will be the best sex of your life. You're going to have some fun."

"Fun, indeed, my pet. Now shut your mouth, you wretched whore, before you attract attention."

Lindsay responded as if saddened, although she remembered not a word of it, she was so drunk. "Hey, that's not nice. I'm going to have to..." She trailed off in mid-speak and became silent once again. There were not many out in the streets at this time, mostly young people about her age, all of them surely just as drunk. There was no one in the immediate vicinity, that is, no one in viewing distance of them, and Thomas took this opportunity to duck away into a dark alley on the side of the street.

"Hey, where are we Tommy?" Muttered Lindsay, her head hanging low.

"Keep your mouth shut, whore. Or I will cut your wretched lips off."

He reached the end of the alleyway, in near total darkness, as he nearly tossed Lindsay to the floor. He beckoned to her in a whisper, "Get up!"

Lindsay sounded as if she was sobbing, but it was doubtful. She was too drunk to know what was happening. Thomas continued, "Take off your pants, now."

"I usually don't do this in an alley. You're strange, Tommy."

"Shut your mouth and take off your God damned pants."

Lindsay nearly lost her balance, but did as Thomas said. Both her hands went to the rim of her shorts, leaving her completely defenseless. And with those black-gloved hands, he quickly wrapped them around her neck, preventing her from screaming out. His grip tightened with every second, as she was slowly losing balance. She dropped to her knees, quickly losing consciousness before her eyelids shut. Thomas now laid her down flat on her back, with her head to his left. Whether she was alive or dead after Thomas had choked her mattered not, for he pulled out a large knife that was carefully hidden underneath the upper-piece of the tuxedo. He reached over Lindsay's right side, to the left side of her neck, and made a clean cut across her neck downward, towards him. This method caused the blood to spurt away from him, preventing his clothes from being unduly bloodstained.

With his left hand, he placed his thumb and index finger on opposite sides of her cheek and squeezed inward, opening her mouth. Again with his left hand, he took hold of the tip of her tongue and with the knife, made a clean cut at the back of her mouth, slicing out her tongue. He lifted it up before his eyes, and, placing the knife on the ground for a moment, reached back inside his tuxedo and pulled out a small plastic bag, in which he placed the tongue in, and then placed the bag back into his tuxedo.

"No talking to the cops now, okay my pet?" Thomas laughed before he began stripping her of her clothes. With her clothes tossed to the side, and her body completely in the nude Thomas proceeded to remove her sexual organs with one clean stroke of the knife. He surely had some experience with using a knife, as he made no faults to his victims; no second attempts.

With his left hand, he pulled out a small handkerchief and wiped the blood clean from the knife, before placing both back into his tuxedo, back into hiding. He pulled out a note from another pocket of his tuxedo, with words already written on it. He then pulled out a large nail from that same pocket, and placed the note to her forehead with the nail at the top, directly in the middle of her forehead. He pushed down, driving the small metal spike into her skull.

He gazed over his latest bit of work, smiling in the darkness with complete satisfaction. And as he turned away from the scene, he thought to himself.

_Four and whore rhyme aright; Jack will have some fun tonight._


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Tuesday evening, July 12; oh what a fine evening this is. I suspect the police should be finding miss Lindsay right about now. 'Twas a shame, she was awfully pretty. I do hope they come looking for me, I enjoy a good chase. But nevertheless, this is a perfect evening for a walk. I shall take a break from my work tonight, as exciting as it is, and simply go for a stroll._

Thomas walked southbound down the sidewalk of Madison Avenue, watching as people all around him conversed with each other and walked past others as if others did not exist. New York City; a haven for the rude and impolite. New York City; the new Whitechapel. Yes, Thomas enjoyed his work greatly, and thought it an honor to be continuing the work of Jack the Ripper. He was obsessed with the infamous serial killer ever since he first heard of him as a young child, and since then has devoted nearly his entire life to studying all the files relating to Jack; studying his techniques of killing, and his methods of sweet-talking the prostitutes. Yes, Thomas was the Jack of the 21 Century.

He came to a crossroads just at about the time the sun was completely set. The street lamps suddenly came on, as he waited for the signal to cross the street. He was alone at the corner of the sidewalk, if only for a moment, before a little girl slowly sidled up to his side. She looked up at him with bright green, innocent eyes, looking over his clothing. He had not taken notice to her yet. Long black hair fell down to her lower back, as her pale skin almost illuminated from the streetlights. In her left hand she held, by the arm, a worn out, old doll which was dragging along the ground. She stood up to his waist, at most. No taller than that.

With her right hand she tugged on his pant leg, as he finally looked down at her with almost shock.

"Can I help you little girl?" Thomas asked, bewildered.

"Why are you wearing such funny clothes?" Asked the little girl, her voice soft and sweet.

Thomas smirked slightly, responding, "Oh, well I'm a very important man, so I must always look my best. I never know when I might be called in for a job."

The little girl dropped her right arm before asking, "What do you do?"

Thomas was getting a little annoyed, now noticing that it was clear to cross the street. However, he answered her question. "Well, I do a little work on the streets. I – I clean up the streets, so to speak."

The little girl looked at him, confused, before asking again, "So you're a garbage man? That doesn't sound important to me." Thomas couldn't help but laugh.

"My name's Mary Jane, but my friends call me Emmy, so you can too. What's your name, mister?"

Thomas almost fell back when she said her name. 'Mary Jane.' It was almost as if he was being haunted by the past. Mary Jane Kelly was the latest victim, who was supposedly killed by Jack the Ripper, on the night of November 9, 1888. Thomas grew silent for a moment, before Mary Jane asked again.

"What's your name, mister?"

"My – my name...it's Thomas." He responded hesitantly.

"Thomas? Well, that's a boring name. Oh well." She said as she looked away suddenly, sighing. "Where are you going now, Thomas?"

"I – I'm out for a walk. That's all."

"Oh?" said Mary Jane, curious. "Where to?"

"No where in particular. Just...out for some fresh air, away from work for the moment."

"Yeah, I understand. Garbage is very smelly, I'd want to get away from it too."

"Where is your mother?" Questioned Thomas.

Mary Jane pointed behind her at two women talking to each other. "She's over there, talking to some lady. She didn't notice I left, she never pays attention to me."

Thomas looked over at the woman whom Mary Jane pointed to; a slender, average-height woman with short black hair, fitted in a tight red dress with a red purse around her shoulder.

_Looks like a whore to me. But get a grip, she's not who you're supposed to kill.._

"I'm sorry," he said, in reference to her mother never noticing her.

"It's okay, I'm fine. She does it so much that I'm used to it."

"Hmm." Thomas mumbled something under his breath, before he asked casually. "How old are you?"

Mary Jane tilted her head slightly to the side before responding. "10. How old are you?"

Thomas smiled; She was so innocent. Why couldn't all girls be this innocent? "I'm 37."

"Wow, you're old." Mary Jane laughed slightly, causing Thomas to smile as well. He sighed momentarily, before continuing.

"Well, I must be going." He said abruptly, before starting to walk away, across the street.

"Going to work?" Mary Jane said curiously.

"Yes, you could say that. Good bye...Mary Jane." Thomas said, hesitantly.

"I said call me Emmy." She said in a whining voice.

"Right then. Good bye, Emmy." Thomas responded before he turned away from her again and walked to the other sidewalk across the street.

Mary Jane called out to him, though she wasn't sure if he heard. "Good bye Thomas!" She watched him for a moment before she turned and started walking in the other direction, back to her mother.

Thomas continued walking down the street, not looking back at her, simply staring at the ground before him. He wasn't sure if this was by pure coincidence, or something else. He didn't believe in 'signs' and the like, but now he began to question it. Was it a sign? Or was it just a mere coincidence?

_I must relieve myself of this tension. I've taken a break from my work long enough. I will retreat home for now, and in the night I will get to work. But before I do that, I must see how the boys in blue have handled miss Lindsay. Yes, I wonder what they'll make of this one._

All the while this was happening, the police had just arrived at the murder scene of one Lindsay Day.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Tuesday, July 12. It was almost 7 in the evening when we arrived at the fourth murder scene. This one was the youngest out of all of them so far. It sickens me whenever I think about what this psychopath is doing. And he takes pleasure in it too, which is the worst part._

Detective Cardoso arrived at the scene with Chief Gonzalez and Officer Tristan Burcham leading out in front. At the end of the alleyway on West 81 Street, several police officers crowded around a covered body of the latest victim in the "Jack the Ripper" killing spree. The woman's clothes were, like the last, completely torn off of her body, however, were left at the scene, rather than taken away. Chief Gonzalez and Officer Burcham stopped just before the body as Detective Cardoso walked around them and stood at the woman's feet.

"Can I see the body?" He asked, looking up to one of the police officers.

Officer Nikolai nodded, adding, "This one, surprisingly, is the least injured of them. No minor scratches like the other three had, but..."

He lowered himself and pulled off the cover that was over her body, revealing just as he said. That oh so familiar cut across the neck was almost a given, as that was Jack's 'trademark', so to speak. Her mouth was agape, though, and as Detective Cardoso peered inside, he saw no tongue. What was even more horrifying was that a note had been nailed to her forehead. As Nikolai further removed the rest of the cover, Albert could see bloodstains around her lower body, mostly around her waist and thighs.

"What happened there?" Detective Cardoso questioned, motioning to the blood patches.

"When we got here," replied Officer Hinson, who stood beside Nikolai, "there were organs littered all over the ground at those spots. She wasn't bleeding anymore, but it looked like she had been bleeding heavily from her vagina long after she had been killed. Old Jack cut out her sexual organs and left them on the ground beside her."

Albert gave a look of almost complete disbelief. "_What the hell is wrong with this guy?" _he thought. He tried to shake the image of Jack cutting out her sexual organs from his mind as he moved over to her head, and went down to one knee. "I assume you've read the note already, yes?"

"Several times," replied Nikolai. "We just don't...understand what he's trying to do."

Albert looked up to Nikolai and Hinson for a moment before looking back down to the note. He began reading it to himself:

_"Misther Cardoso_

_I am geting very bord here waiting for you peple to katch me. Wut iz takin so long I am down on whores and I sahnt quit ripping them till I do get buckled. I feel that you ar nevr going to find me so I will help you. You will see soon enuff but for now hav fun looking._

_jack the ripper_

_ps I cut out this ones tongue so she wuldnt tell you who I wuz. ha ha."_

_Help us? How the hell is he going to help us?_

Albert stood up again, looking at the other officers.

Nikolai voiced his opinion, "Looks like our boy's having a fun time doing what it is he does. Sick bastard. I tell ya, when we find this guy, I say we give him the chair."

Sirens echoed in the distance, soon coming closer as the ambulance came to a stop in front of the alley.

"Well, you can have a look around, Detective," said Nikolai, "but if you wanna see the body, it'll be at the morgue for testing."

The officers, all excluding Chief Gonzalez, slowly departed from the scene as the paramedics came in with a body bag and a stretcher, to take away the body.

"How much longer you going to be here?" questioned Manuel.

"Not long," answered Albert, as he studied the ground where Lindsay was laying before she was taken away. He looked over the blood spots and all along the walls for any possible clues; anything. They've tried fingerprints on the last three victims, but to no avail. As well, tests done by doctors show that the killer has extensive knowledge with using a knife, as all of the cuts appear to have been created on clean, single strokes. The killer must also have some knowledge of the human anatomy, as shown in the third victim, whose kidney and intestines had been ripped out without damaging surrounding organs.

_He really **is** Jack the Ripper of the 21 Century..._

"Ok, well, I'm going to bag these clothes and take them down to the station as evidence. Maybe there are some finger prints on these, who knows."

Albert nodded, "Okay, I'll be back at the station later."

Manuel nodded as he retreated back to his car and took from the back seat three large plastic bags. Making his way back to where the torn clothes were, he placed them into individual bags; lower body clothing in one, upper body in another, and her shoes in the third. He bid Albert another fare well before he went back to his squad car, tossed the clothing in the back seat, and then drove off.

Albert continued to stare at the blood patterns on the floor. He noticed an excessive amount of blood to his right, as he stood at where the woman's feet were. The blood was mostly around her lower-body, as previously stated, and around her head. He came to the conclusion that because so much blood had been spilt on that side, the cut across the neck must have started on that side. He also suspected 'Jack' to have been to the right of the woman, and he'd have to reach over her body to cut her. But because he was on the opposite side of where he cut, it would lessen his exposure to the blood.

_You're a real pro at this, aren't you Jacky-boy? But what did you mean that you are going to 'help' us?_

8:30PM, later that night...

As Detective Cardoso arrived back at the police station, to his surprise, a crowd of people had gathered out front, surrounded by two white vans with large satellite dishes placed upon the roofs. Standing at the top of the steps was Chief Gonzalez, shaking the hand of some man in front of cameras. The man was Justin Harrington, a prominent figure in New York City and a well-established entrepreneur. Mr. Harrington has donated funds to many associations throughout New York City, and the police force was no exception. He helped with every large case they had, donating money to the search efforts. And like clockwork, he was here again, ready to help out.

Apparently, when Chief Gonzalez had arrived back at the station, Mr. Harrington was already there, waiting for him. Manuel was very gracious that Mr. Harrington was willing to donate such a large amount of money to help the officers in search of this killer – 20,000 dollars, to be exact, one of his largest contributions ever. It seemed that the press had gotten word of this and immediately came over. In front of Manuel and Mr. Harrington was a podium with four microphones, and after the two gentlemen shook hands, Manuel stood before it and took questions from the people.

Detective Cardoso watched from behind the crowd, as Mr. Harrington stood behind Manuel with a smile on his face. The man was always smiling. He had no children, but was married 3 times and divorced all three times. Currently he was with no one, and if he were, it would surely spread like wildfire in the magazines. Famous people's lives were never really private. In any case, with the money they were getting, Cardoso had a feeling of reassurance that maybe they might catch 'Jack' soon. He sure hoped so.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_I do hope they realize soon._

_"Last night at around 8:30 PM, Police Chief Manuel Gonzalez and well-renowned Entrepreneur Justin Harrington held a press conference in front of the police station. There, Mr. Harrington donated a large sum of money to aid in the effort of the on-going search for the serial killer who is mimicking the actions of the infamous Whitechapel murderer, Jack the Ripper. Chief Gonzalez stated last night..."_

The voice of the news reporter suddenly went quiet as Thomas shut the television set off. He sat in the living room of his small apartment in Manhattan, nearly three blocks from the police station, now sitting in the silence and darkness. The only light pouring into the room was that of a street lamp directly outside of his window. He rarely put on his own light, and when he did, it was when he was in his bedroom, where there was very little light coming from the outside.

He smiled suddenly in the darkness, as something occurred to him. He'd often wondered if the police had picked up on the many clues that he has left at nearly all of the murder scenes. They were so easy to decipher, and yet seeing as how they had not picked up on it, or at least shown no evidence of having done so, he questioned the intelligence of all the officers. All of New York put their lives in the hands of these people, and yet they are unable to catch one man; a man in which they all know, and in fact, would least suspect.

Thomas stood up from the reclining chair now and walked over to the window, the street lamp casting an enigmatic glow that illuminated nearly all of his body, except part of his neck and all of his head. He was still smiling as he stood in front of the window; it was several minutes past ten, as he was just watching the ten o'clock news on the TV. He moved away from the window now and slowly walked over to a small stool beside that reclining chair in which he was previously sitting in. Atop the stool was a telephone. He picked up the receiver with his right hand, and with his left, dialed the police station.

An officer picked up, and for a moment, there was only silence.

"Hello?" asked the officer, Tristan Burcham. "Hello, is anyone there?"

He could hear heavy breathing on the other line, but no voice in response. At least not yet.

"What is it, Tristan?" asked officer Todd Hinson, who sat at the desk opposite of Tristan.

Tristan covered the mouthpiece of the receiver with his other hand and responded, "I dunno. No one's answering. All I hear is breathing."

Todd stood from his chair and walked beside Tristan. "Lemme see the phone."

Tristan handed him the receiver as Todd spoke, "Hello, is anyone there? I know someone is, I can hear you. Say something."

The breathing only became heavier, and Todd swore he heard a small laugh on the other end. He covered the mouthpiece once again, and to Tristan, he said. "Trace the line. This prick likes to play games, so let's see where it's coming from..."

* * *

In a bar at the corner of East 87 Street, a familiar bar tender leaned against the countertop, her eyes fixed on the television in the corner of the room. She was Rebekah Valentine. 

_"Last night at around 8:30 PM, Police Chief Manuel Gonzalez and well-renowned Entrepreneur Justin Harrington held a press conference in front of the police station..."_

The voice seemed to trail off now, as Rebekah became lost in thought. She stared up at the images from the press conference, at both Chief Gonzalez and Justin Harrington, with a look of confusion in her eyes. She mumbled something under her breath, as someone sitting near-by questioned.

"What was that?"

Rebekah snapped out of her daze and looked over to the person, "Oh, it was nothing..."

She looked back up to the screen, as the news report was just finishing.

_No, I'm just going crazy. What a silly thing to think..._

_

* * *

_

At a small newsstand down the road, a boy, nineteen years old, stood behind the stacks of papers, two street lamps on each side of him cast down a circle of light around the area. He was reading one of the headlines of the paper, and it was about none other than the press conference. Occasionally, people would walk buy, pick up a paper and pay for it, then walk off, and in the times when no one was around, he would get back to reading the article.

It had the same information that the television news said; the donation made by Justin Harrington, among other things such as what the police plan to do to catch this killer. It really was a big thing, and it was so surprising how it has escalated to such in only a few days. It was terrifying, to say the least, knowing that someone was out there, impossible to find, and yet right underneath their nose. It was almost as if the killer was playing games with the police, and in fact, he _was _mocking them often. The boy continued to read the rest of the article; all the while hoping the police would find this killer soon.

* * *

Back at the police station...as Todd had commanded Tristan to trace the line, a voice suddenly came from the opposite end. 

"My dear boy, how is life treating you? Are you doing well Mr. Hinson?"

Todd froze suddenly, uncovering the mouthpiece now. "You know me?"

"I know all of you. And you know me, as well. It really is surprising how you have yet to figure out who I am. I used to have so much faith in the PD. Now, you can't even catch one man. What good are you?"

There was a long pause after the man spoke, before he continued again.

"What, nothing to say anymore? Why have you gone so quiet once I started to talk?"

"Who is this?" asked Todd.

"You know very well who this is. It's everyone's friend, Jack the Ripper."

Todd's eyes went wide as the man said this. He covered the mouthpiece again for a moment, as he called out to another officer to get Detective Cardoso.

"I thought I'd call my dear friends and see what they were up to. It is a dull evening tonight. I think I shall go out and see if I can find my next victim. What do you say?"

Todd grew quiet, not knowing what to say, and simply waiting for Detective Cardoso to come. And finally, when he did, he instantly took the phone from Todd and spoke.

"You're a real funny guy, Jack. If that is really what you want us to call you. But c'mon, what's your real name?"

"My, my. Albert Cardoso. Right to the point, as always. You never did stray from your work; I always admired that in you. So persistent, so determined. Very admirable, I must admit. And I also must confess that at times I was envious of your ability to not give up until you completed what you set out to do."

"Enough rambling. Why did you call?"

"Well, I can't call my friends to have a nice conversation with them? 'Twas all I wanted. Until we finally meet in person, as if we haven't already. Good night, my friend."

"Wait, Jack –" The phone line went dead as the man hung up the other end of the phone. Detective Cardoso held the phone to his ear for a moment, getting only the dial tone in response. He slammed the receiver back down and cursed to himself, under his breath. Tristan walked back over now, offering a bit of good news.

"Don't worry, I traced it in time. I got where it's coming from, and you won't believe it when I tell you..."

Back at Thomas' apartment, after he had hung up the phone, he walked over to a particular wall in the living room. Upon this wall appeared to be a small bulletin board of some sort, with a piece of paper thumb nailed to it. It was a list of names, apparently, and the first four were crossed off. The crossed off names read: Victoria Sweeny, Marissa Harbinger, Roxanne Diamond, and Lindsay Day. There were two names below those four that remained uncrossed. They were Julia Hendrix and Sabrina Mitchal, with Julia being the next one. It was obvious what this list was.

Thomas smiled once again in the darkness, and walked over to the door. From the coat rack, he pulled off his familiar black cloak, which already had his knife inside, and wrapped it around himself. And as he set off outside, into the night, he had one thing on his mind. He knew the police were coming for him, which was exactly what he planned. He knew he had been on the phone long enough for the police to trace the call. With the police preoccupied with his apartment, especially Detective Cardoso and Chief Gonzalez, because he knew for a fact those two would be coming; it would be much easier for him to 'continue his work.'


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Don't worry, I traced it in time. I got where it's coming from, and you won't believe it when I tell you..." said officer Burcham, as Detective Cardoso's hopes were just suddenly brought back up.

"Where? Where is it coming from?" questioned Cardoso, taking a few steps closer to Tristan.

"Well, it's...three blocks away on 84 Street." Said Tristan, with a bit of hesitation.

"That close? Is he crazy calling us from that close?" questioned Cardoso.

"Crazy, or maybe just deceiving. What should we do?" asked Todd, who was taking in everything.

"You two will come with me and the Chief and we'll go check it out. Have Nikolai stay at the phone in case he calls back, and tell him to call me if anything happens."

Todd nodded and left to give Chris Nikolai the news. Tristan readied himself as Detective Cardoso went to Chief Gonzalez's office to tell him of what just happened.

"The bastard called us? He's got balls, I have to admit." Blurted the Chief.

"Yeah," retorted Cardoso. "And Tristan traced the line to three blocks away. We're going to go check it out now."

"Alright." Said Chief Gonzalez, as he stood from his chair walked around to the other side of his desk to stand beside Cardoso. "Let's go bag us a serial killer."

Cardoso and Gonzalez both turned and exited the room, the other two officers now following them as the four walked towards the stairs, out of the police station.

* * *

After Thomas retrieved his cloak, he moved over to the window and hurried down the fire escape of his second-story apartment, his cape fluttering behind him as he ran down the stairs. When he reached the sidewalk, he glanced in either direction, observing that the closest person was not for at least a half a mile away. It was almost 10:30 now, as Thomas began walking casually down the sidewalk; his knife cleverly sheathed within the cloak as his hands were tucked in the pockets at his side. He looked up to the sky for a moment, the stars well hidden by the brightness of the city lights. It was nearly impossible to see a star in anywhere of New York City; it was just too bright. 

_What a glorious sight these people are missing out on. Such a travesty it is, when you cannot even see the beauty of the stars. _

Julia Hendrix lived, as did all the other victims, in the vicinity of Central Park. However, unlike the other victims, Thomas was once very familiar with Julia, to say the least. The only one of his six selected targets, Julia was the only person whom Thomas had a close relationship with, or even knew for that matter. And he knew exactly where she lived. It was no more than a mile away from his own apartment.

It didn't take long before he reached the apartment, and saw that the lights were on inside.

_Perfect. I don't have to do much searching tonight._

As he approached the doorway, and under the light of the lamp above it, he whispered, "Forgive me Julia, but it is my mission."

* * *

The police car rushed through the streets, Chief Gonzalez in the driver seat with Cardoso in the passengers seat, and Todd and Tristan in the back. It took no more than 5 minutes to reach the apartment that the phone call came from. They parked several yards away from the actual building, however, as to avoid suspicion. And quietly, the four exited the car and slowly walked over to the door. 

"Which one is it?" whispered Gonzalez over to Tristan.

"Room 23 on the second floor."

Gonzalez scaled the side of the building with his eyes, noticing that one room in particular, along the fire escape, had its window open. He commanded Tristan and Todd to climb the stairs of the escape up to this room, as him and Cardoso went through the inside. The two instantly obeyed and began slowly walking up the stairs, as the Chief now approached the door. With his left hand (his right hand holding a pistol already), he turned the doorknob slowly and pushed in as soft as he could.

Darkness filled the hallway, and the two entered from the outside, closing the door only slightly behind them, leaving it less than halfway open. Gonzalez looked over the room listing, seeing that in room 23 lived a man by the name of Thomas Liddell. The two men ascended the stairs slowly now, trying their best to avoid making any creaking sounds on the wood. And as they successfully reached the second floor, Gonzalez led the way to room 23. Detective Cardoso stood back, as Cardoso counted. And when he reached three, he kicked open the door.

* * *

_Knock, knock, knock_

The soft pounding on the door startled Julia slightly, as she had not expected any visitors so late at night. She became a bit worried, to say the least. She put down the book she was reading upon the light stand beside the couch and stood up, walking slowly to the door. She folded over the front of her nightgown and tied it, for she was nearly nude underneath, wearing just underwear and a bra. She looked through the peephole in the doorway, to spot an oddly dressed man in black outside, wearing an unusual top hat. The man was standing there casually, looking down at the ground, as if trying to avoid eye contact before he even saw her.

Julia called out to the man from behind the door, still looking at him through the hole. "Hello?"

The man's head jerked up suddenly, as he looked up to where the sound came from. He responded almost immediately, his voice mesmerizing. "Miss Julia Hendrix?"

"Yes, who is this? Do I know you?" responded Julia, her voice hinting with a bit of fear.

"I'd hope so. Remember back several years ago, Julia, in Central Park when you met a man named Thomas Liddell."

Julia sounded shocked suddenly. "I remember Tommy. He helped me out a bit by lending me some money, and I told him I was going to pay him back, but he refused to accept it."

The man nodded on the other side of the doorway as he continued, "Correct. And do you remember what happened next?"

Julia thought, and hesitantly responded. "Yes. We became very intimate, to say the least. I became very attached to him, but he didn't seem to have any interest in me outside of sex. And then one day, he just...disappeared. I never heard from him again, or heard of his name for a very long time. No one did. Until about a year ago, I heard on the news that police had found his body washed up in the Hudson River."

"Yes, that is partially true Julia. He did disappear, but he did not die, I can assure you."

"How do you know that?" questioned Julia, the conversation now piquing her interest.

"Because I am he, Julia. I am Thomas Liddell."

Julia paused momentarily, before she shouted back, almost surprised. "How do I know it's you?"

"Need I show my face to you? Because I know you are looking through that hole in the doorway, looking at me right now." Thomas said, as he slowly took off his top hat with his right hand and held it at his side. He looked up into where the hole was, revealing a handsome, pale face. Gentle blue eyes, soft, pale lips and short black hair. His only flaw was a scar upon his left cheek, stretching from the corner of his lips to almost his temple.

Julia gasped softly behind the doorway, as she whispered to herself. "Dear God, it is you."

She hurriedly unlocked the door and pulled it open, and standing on the other end was a smiling Thomas. Julia rushed out of the house and into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"What happened to you? Why did you disappear all of a sudden that day?"

"I'm sorry to have troubled you, my dear. But I had to leave. I cannot tell you for what reason, but trust me when I say this. I never wanted to leave you, I simply had no choice."

Julia smiled and stepped back now, "Come in, come in." As she walked back into her house. Thomas followed slowly behind her, and closed the door once he stepped over the threshold. Julia didn't hesitate with questions. "How are you? What have you been up to? Life's treating you good?"

Thomas smiled and responded, "I'm having the best time of my life."

* * *

As the Chief kicked down the door, he gave way to a room in total darkness, all except for the light penetrating through the open window. Standing outside the window now was the silhouette of Tristan, and behind him Todd. The two officers entered from the fire escape, as Gonzalez and Cardoso entered from the hallway. Detective Cardoso searched for the light and immediately flipped it on, revealing a horrid sight. 

Scattered all over the floor were pictures, books and other sorts of paper. And all over the walls were like photos and writing in what at first appeared to be red paint. But the smell finally came to them; whatever was written on the walls was written in blood. They were all phrases used by Jack the Ripper, Cardoso claimed. Or supposedly used by him. All of them were verbatim, that is, written exactly as Jack had written them, with spelling mistakes and all. The two that stood out most were _"Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk"_ and _"I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled."_

The photos were of dead bodies, but not just any bodies. They were of the bodies of the victims in this "Jack the Ripper" case. And they all appeared to have been taken by a Polaroid camera. The first to notice the list of names on the wall was Todd. He read the names to the other three, who now stood close to him. And as Cardoso noticed the fifth name, Julia Hendrix, he froze. His eyes widened as he stared at the name, before he finally spoke.

"I know who the killer is. The clues, the next victim, everything. Son of a bitch...I know who he is."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Julia was in the kitchen now preparing some coffee as Thomas sat comfortably at the edge of the three-person couch. He glanced down to his left at the lamp stand at the book she was reading. Go Ask Alice. He'd never read it, but he'd heard nothing but good things of it.

_Maybe I'll look into reading it once my work is done._

He began pondering other future wishes, once he completed his 'work.' He had plans to move out of New York City as soon as he was finished, maybe move up north to the country and live quietly there, where no one could bother him. Peace was all he wanted, and he'd be able to achieve it once he was finished.

"Okay, here it is" chimed Julia as she walked into the living room carrying a tray with two filled coffee cups, and a pot of steaming coffee to the side. She placed it down on the table in the middle of the room and sat beside Thomas. She looked up at him for a moment before she took hold of her cup and took a small sip of it.

"Be careful, it's very hot."

Thomas smiled as he looked at her, scanning her features. It's as if she hadn't aged at all; she was still so beautiful, exactly as he last saw her several years ago.

"What is it?" she questioned, in regards to his smiling.

"Nothing, just admiring your beauty."

"You were always good with words, Thomas." Responded Julia, as she placed her cup back down on the tray. "So, you never told me. Where'd you go all these years?"

"I said it before; I can't tell you. As much as I would like to, I don't think you'd want to hear it. No – I _know_ you wouldn't want to hear it."

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad. What is it?" she said as she moved in a bit closer to him, looking interested.

"Well, I suppose I can tell you..." he responded, and then thought to himself. _You won't be alive to tell about it, anyway._

_

* * *

_

"The clues, they were so obvious. Damn myself for not picking up on it earlier."

"What?" cried Chief Gonzalez. "Who is the killer, Albert? Who?"

"The killer – he… It's Justin Harrington..." said Detective Cardoso, hesitantly.

The three officers froze, their eyes widening as Cardoso said this. None of them could believe it.

"Albert, are you insane?" responded Manuel. "Mr. Harrington, the killer? You _must _be crazy. He just donated money to help us find the killer. Why would he donate money to a cause that was trying to find himself?"

"Listen to me, Damnit. Just listen..." Cardoso looked around the room again, down at the photos all over the floor, before he started.

"The third victim, Roxanne Diamond. Do you remember?" The three officers nodded simultaneously. "Her wallet was taken out of her pants, but left at the scene, with a large sum of money still in it; nearly 300 dollars to be exact. This would give the impression that the killer was in no need of money, considering he didn't take it. That or he was a complete schizophrenic. Choice one seems the more logical one, seeing as how the killer knew exactly what he was doing with each victim; he made no mistakes. Secondly, the note left at the fourth victim, Lindsay Day. In that note, it stated that he was going to help us because he felt we would never be able to find him. And what happens later that night? We get the donation from Mr. Harrington.

Back to my first point: because the killer didn't take the money, I would assume he didn't need it. And my reasoning as to why Harrington is the killer is because...he's a billionaire. What would he need with a measly 300 dollars? He wouldn't, which is exactly my point."

Manuel shook his head slowly, still in disbelief. "Albert, I think you're jumping the gun a bit here. You're accusing one of the richest men in New York, let alone the world, of being a 4-time serial killer who's mimicking the actions of the late 19th century murderer Jack the Ripper? You're the one who's insane here."

"Manuel, just wait. I haven't finished yet. I have one more point to make."

"What is it?" wondered the Chief.

"The fifth victim, Julia Hendrix. If you remember, Harrington was married three times, and divorced all three times."

Todd's mouth was wide, as he whispered. "Jesus, he was..."

Albert nodded as he continued, "Yes. Ms. Hendrix was Harrington's latest wife. They divorced almost two years ago, due to domestic problems, so they told the press. But I think – no, I know – there was something deeper that caused the divorce. And now, seeing that she's on this list, I know the reason. She was a prostitute, and Harrington must have found out. And now he wants his revenge on all prostitutes, taking all his hatred out on them. And among these 6 he selected, Hendrix was one of them."

"But what about the other 5, Albert? What is their relation, and why are they on the list too?" asked Manuel.

"I don't know about them, possibly just random picks. But I know for a fact that Julia was not just random. So do you see now that Harrington is the killer?"

"I still can't believe it, but your reasoning is very logical. The least we can do now, without any proof, is to interrogate him."

Todd instantly chimed in, "Shit! I completely forgot! When he called the station earlier, before he started talking to you, Detective, he told me that he might 'go out and find his next victim."

Cardoso's eyes went wide. "Julia..."

* * *

"I took on a few jobs, you know...did stuff for other people and they paid me. But one job got me in some trouble, to say the least. I had to leave for a while, stay in hiding. That's why I left so abruptly and didn't tell you. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't take the chance of people knowing."

"What kind of trouble? What did you do?"

Thomas was hesitant at first, be he continued. "Well, I met you..."

Julia looked confused. "What...do you mean?"

"Damnit, I'm sorry Julia. I must go." Thomas stood from the couch. _Damnit, Thomas. You fucked up, you got emotional. You knew it was going to happen. You stupid, stupid moron._

Thomas turned and rushed to the door, looking back to Julia for a moment. "I'm sorry, Julia...but I can't do it to you. Not even for him..."

With that, Thomas opened wide the door and rushed outside, putting on his top hat as he ran. Julia rushed to the threshold of the doorway and watched as he ran off into the darkness, before he was no longer in sight. She was confused, to say the least, but she partially understood what he meant.

_So that's why..._

Moments later, as she was about to close the door, a car came rushing down the street. From afar she couldn't see, but when it came close, she realized it was a police car. It came to a skidding halt in front of her house and four men rushed out from within. She opened the door wide again and stepped out a bit, holding the front of her robe closed. One of them came rushing up to her, and she recognized it to be Chief Manuel Gonzalez.

"What's wrong?" She cried, almost frightened.

"Are you okay?" Manuel asked, as the two officers rushed into the house. The fourth man, Detective Cardoso, stood behind the Chief.

"Yes, I'm fine. What the hell is the problem?"

"Ms. Hendrix, was Mr. Harrington here tonight? Justin Harrington." Said Manuel.

"No, he wasn't. But – " was all she could say before the two officers came rushing back to the door from inside.

"It's all clear. No one's inside."

"Damnit, do you know where he is?" asked the Detective to Julia.

"No, home I presume. How should I know? But listen – "

The two officers pushed past her and outside, walking back towards the car. Manuel turned to Cardoso and commanded him. "Stay here with her, protect her, while the three of us go to Harrington's house. Okay?"

Albert nodded and stepped beside Julia as Manuel turned and followed the two officers back to the car. He took the driver's seat again as Todd Hinson sat passenger, and Tristan Burcham in the back. The car sped off almost as soon as Manuel took his seat.

Cardoso turned and looked at Julia with caring eyes. "It's ok, don't worry."

Julia still looked as bewildered as ever. "What the fuck just happened?"

Cardoso stepped inside her house, out of the darkness, as he cleared his throat. "I assume you know of the recent killings, yes? Being done by this Jack the Ripper obsessed person."

"Of course, it's all over the news. Who doesn't know about it?"

"Well, " hesitated Cardoso. "We have reason to believe that Justin Harrington is the killer, and that you were his next target. Which is why we asked if he had been here tonight."

Julia looked down to the ground, her eyes full of fear. "Justin, capable of killing someone? I can't believe it."

"Neither did I, but all the evidence points to him."

"Well, he wasn't here, as I said, but..."

"But what?" asked Cardoso, now looking concerned.

Julia hesitated before she finally responded. "Someone else was."


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The proud businessman stood at the railing of his balcony on the third floor of his estate; a glorious, lavish mansion resting in the center of a 10-acre property. His eyes drifted upwards to the sky, lit up by the lights of the city. He wished he could see the stars; oh how badly did he wish. He remembered when he was growing up, he used to sit outside at night and look at the stars. He used to live upstate with his father, mother, and brother. Looking up at the stars was one of his favorite things as a child, and he missed it greatly.

Justin sighed slowly as he looked back down, out in the distance now. The headlights of a car came rushing towards his mansion now, and when it came close, he saw that it was a police car. A smile came to his lips now, as he whispered, "My dear friends. Congratulations."

He turned and walked back through the threshold of the sliding doors and into his office, now pulling out his chair and taking a seat in it, in front of his desk. Silence was all he heard for a moment, before the ringing of the doorbell broke it. He waited several minutes, when finally, the door to his office opened wide. Entering first was his butler, leading behind him three police officers, the first one being Chief Gonzalez. As the officers were fully in the room, the butler took his leave, closing the door behind him.

"My friend, Manuel, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit on this fine evening?"

The three officers started slowly walking towards him now, as Manuel retorted. "Hello Justin. Good to see you, as always. But I'm not here for leisure, I'm here on duty."

"Oh?" answered Justin, his brows rising in curiosity. "What is it?"

"I want to ask you a few questions, I hope you won't mind."

"Of course not, Manuel. By all means, ask away. But before we start, can I ask what these are in regards to?"

"Well, we have reason to believe that you are the 'Jack the Ripper' serial killer that has been running free in the past week."

"Me? A serial killer? That's absurd, Manuel." Justin looked shocked.

"I know, but this is my job. Now please, if you'll answer these questions honestly."

"Of course, of course." Justin nodded before Manuel began.

"Where were you on the nights of Thursday, June 30 and Monday, July 4?"

"Well, let's see." He began to ponder for a moment before finally responding. "On Thursday I was at my monthly meeting with business associates, and you can look into that if you wish. On Monday I was home, as I am tonight. Simply relaxing and enjoying the summer weather."

"What about on the afternoon of Saturday, the 9th?"

"I went out of the city for a day, took a drive upstate. No reason in particular, I just love the countryside. It's beautiful, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yeah, it's nice. And one last night; Where were you on Monday the 11th?"

"My, these are a lot of days. But on Monday, I played Golf with my butler. You can question him too, if you like."

"No, that's fine." All the while he was asking questions, Todd was taking down what Justin said in a small note pad.

"Is there anything more?" questioned Justin.

"Actually, yes there is." Responded Manuel. "Can you tell us what happened with your last marriage? Why did you and Ms. Hendrix divorce?"

"Domestic problems, you know. We couldn't agree on anything, and we both felt that it was the best thing to do. There were always fights. Neither of us was happy."

"Are you sure?" asked Manuel.

"Am I sure about what?" Justin said, looking confused.

"Are you sure it was just domestic problems, or something more? Is it true that Julia was a prostitute?"

Justin's eyes widened before he stood slowly from the chair and placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward slightly. "Yes, that is true. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Did you divorce her because of mere domestic problems or did you disapprove of her being a prostitute, and ultimately cheating on you, as it comes down to it, for money? Did you get mad at her and divorce her because of that? And are you now taking your anger out on other prostitutes by killing them, imitating Jack the Ripper?"

Justin slammed his fist into his desk, "I will not accept these ridiculous accusations made against me. I would do no such thing to any person; I would kill no one. Yes, it is true Julia was a prostitute and sold her body for money. Yes it is true I disapproved of it, and was one of the reasons I divorced her. But I assure you, I have killed no one."

"Then who has? Surely, you must know. Who is doing it?"

Justin stared at Manuel for a moment before he pulled his hands from the desk and stood up straight. He tugged down on his tuxedo jacket a bit, straightening it out as he then dropped his hands to his side. He began to speak, and as he did, behind the desk, his right hand slowly reached for the long, horizontal drawer underneath it.

"So, your boys really aren't that stupid after all." He spoke calmly and casually now. "How did you manage to figure out that I was somehow involved, or did you really think that I was the killer?" He almost laughed when he said this.

"The wallet left at the third scene, with all the money still inside. The note stating that the killer was going to help us, and then the day after, your donation. And finally...Julia being one of the targets."

"Congratulations my friends. You are very close now to solving this case. But the question still stands: who is the killer?" His hand slowly pulled open the drawer now, with as little noise as possible.

"But why? What part did you play, and why did you donate money if you were apart of all of this?"

"I supposed I could tell you. The game is almost done, anyway. Yes, it is true that I was mad at Julia for being a prostitute. And my hatred for that profession, if you must call it, increased tenfold. Not only that, but she had caused personal conflictions with my family. I tried to ease the pain by forgetting about it, and for two years, it seemed to work. Until one day, a man who offered to 'relieve me of my anger' greeted me. He offered to cleanse the city free of the sin that I hated so much, for a price.

And so, the deal was made. This man's fascination with Jack the Ripper was like none I had ever seen before. He decided to have some fun with the police; decided to pretend to be Jack the Ripper reborn, so to speak. It was quite amusing from my point of view. And so, he made a random list of 5 names – 5 prostitutes. I added Julia to the list, and doubled the pay for her death. He hesitated to it, but later agreed. As for the donation, well, it's exactly as he wrote in that note. Your boys were so far from the truth that I felt the game was getting very dull, so I decided to increase the challenge for him, as well, unbeknownst to him.

I felt that he could use the challenge, also. When he saw what I had done, he was furious, but still, he did not back down from his work. He needed the money."

"Who is he?" said Manuel, almost screaming.

"His name is Thomas Liddell."

Manuel's eyes went wide as Justin said the name. With Justin's hand having fully opened the draw, he reached inside now and put his hand on a silver .45 caliber pistol, not lifting it out yet. Justin smiled, knowing exactly what was going through Manuel's head right now.

Manuel whispered, "Thomas...no. He's the killer?"

"Time is up, Chief. Game over."

With that, Justin pulled the pistol from the desk and aimed it at Manuel. With a single shot, a bullet ripped through Manuel's chest, tearing through his heart. His body dropped instantly to the floor. Simultaneously, both Tristan and Todd, who had been silent the whole time, removed their pistols and fired two shots each into Justin. He too fell limp to the ground.

Two bodies lay lifeless on the floor now, leaving the two officers scared and confused. The same thing was running through their heads now, as it was before the Chief was shot. "Who is Thomas?" Suddenly breaking their concentration was the ringing of the doorbell. The two officers ran to the balcony and looked down at the door. Standing before the doorway now was Detective Cardoso, and close behind him was Julia Hendrix.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The butler swung open the door moments later, after he had heard the gunshots. He ran into the room, at first only seeing the body of the Chief. But as he drew closer, he saw behind the desk that Justin too had been shot. He ran over to him and dropped to his knees, seeing if he was still alive. Todd and Tristan rushed from the balcony now and out of the office, running down the three flights of stairs before opening the door to a confused Albert and Julia.

"What the hell happened? We heard gunshots when we were coming up the driveway. Where's the Chief?"

"Justin shot him, Detective. The Chief's dead, and so is Justin." cried Tristan.

Cardoso rushed through the door and ran upstairs, as Julia stayed downstairs with the other two officers.

* * *

Thomas had finally returned back home, noticing as he reached his apartment that the lock on his door had been broken. Just as he had suspected, the police came to his apartment first. Too bad he couldn't go through with killing Julia. He made the entire trip and effort for nothing.

_You stupid moron. Now you're not going to get paid. She was worth a lot, too. Goddamnit._

Thomas closed the door, or attempted to at least, but it wouldn't stay shut. He shut the lights, as the police had kept it on when they left. He then sat down in his worn-out recliner, running the events of what just happened over in his mind.

_You choked, Thomas. You let the past get to you; you let your feelings about her get to you. You're human, and you hate it. You hate being vulnerable. You're weak. You're no Jack the Ripper. You're far from him._

Thomas continued to insult himself and his failure at killing Julia. He couldn't do it anymore. He knew the police were at Justin's mansion right now, and Justin was either confessing everything or they had figured it out. It wouldn't be long before they figured out who he was, and he couldn't deal with that. He'd rather take his own life than having the police beat him at his own game.

And with that final thought, Thomas took the knife out from within the cloak. He put the tip of the blade to his neck, and whispered softly, "I'm coming home mother."

* * *

The paramedics took the two bodies away now, and loaded them up into the ambulance. It was a solemn moment, knowing that an innocent man had just died. A good man, nonetheless. The four sat in the living room of the mansion, the butler grieving over his master's death in the other room.

Cardoso finally broke the silence, "Julia, please, repeat to these officers what you told me before we came here, please."

Julia took in a deep breath, the realization finally coming to her how close she was to being killed, before she spoke. "Well, before you arrived at my house, a man was there already, a man by the name of Thomas Liddell. I had a past relationship with him, so to speak, back when I was still a prostitute. You see, this was also when I was still married to Justin. Justin didn't know that I was prostitute at this time yet, and Thomas had just come into the city only days earlier. He told me he was visiting family. It wasn't until later that I found out that Thomas was Justin's brother."

"His brother?" cried Todd, his eyes wide in shock.

Julia nodded and continued, "Yes, his brother. I also found out later that Thomas had changed his last name to Liddell, for unknown reasons. His real last name is Harrington. Justin later found out that I was a prostitute and was cheating on him when Thomas told him one day of this woman he had met. When Thomas told Justin my name, well...you can imagine what happened. Justin became furious with both of us, and threatened to have Thomas killed if he didn't flee the city. As for us, we divorced and called it 'domestic problems."

Todd said almost instantly after she finished, "In the office, before Justin shot the Chief, he said someone who offered to 'relieve him of his anger' greeted him and later said it was Thomas. So...would that mean Thomas willingly offered to kill prostitutes for Justin, for money, possibly also in hopes of his forgiveness?"

Cardoso chimed in, "That's very likely. And when Thomas agreed to kill Julia, too, Justin must have believed that Thomas had no feelings for her. And yet, he didn't kill you, Julia."

"No, he didn't. Which makes me think that Justin killed the Chief because he knew whom Thomas was. They had met on several occasions two years ago, seeing as how the Chief was a close friend to Justin. Justin thought that because Thomas had no feelings for me, he would have killed me already, and therefore, would eliminate the only other person who knew of Thomas. But because Thomas still _does_ have feelings for me, he let me live, and Justin killed the Chief, and got himself killed, ultimately for no reason."

"Damnit!" cried Cardoso as he stood from the chair. "So Thomas just wanted his brother's forgiveness?"

Tristan responded, "And some money on the side, too."

Julia nodded once more, "I just still can't believe Thomas is the killer. He was so nice to me, so kind."

"They usually are to the public..." said Cardoso. "But we can't dwell on the past now. We know who the killer is, so let's go find him."

"But Detective, "questioned Tristan. "Where is he?"

Julia responded, "He ran from my house just before you came. I presume he went back to his home?"

Cardoso mumbled, "The apartment..."

The four of them rushed from the mansion and down the walkway to the police car. Todd had taken the keys from the Chief before the paramedics took him away, so he jumped in the driver's seat with Cardoso in the passenger's, and Tristan and Julia in the back. The car sped out of the driveway and down the street. It reached the apartment in several minutes, as it was not far from the mansion. As soon as the car came to a stop, Cardoso jumped from the seat and ran around the front.

The door to the building was open, and so he walked right on in and up the stairs. The door to room 23 was open as well, but the lights were now off, and he distinctly remembered leaving them on when they left earlier. He told Todd and Tristan to go in first, considering they were armed. As they did, him and Julia followed close behind. As usual, the stench of blood filled their nostrils as they entered the room, however, something was different. It smelt new, fresh. As Detective Cardoso flicked on the light, he once again gave way to a horrifying sight. Sitting in a chair across the room was a dead body, a large slit across his neck.

A bloodied knife rested at the base of the chair as both of his hands, covered in blood, hung over the arms. His head was titled back, allowing the cut to open up even more, causing more blood to drip out. It was a gruesome sight, but there was no denying who it was.

Julia cried out in horror, "Thomas!" as she dropped to her knees and slowly began to weep. Cardoso lowered himself and put his arms around Julia, consoling her, as the two officers moved closer to the body. It seemed that this terrifying case had finally been closed, and the game was over. But who was to decide the 'winner' of this game, and if there was one, what exactly had they won?


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_The New York Times, _Friday, July 15, 2005

**A Sad Close to a Horrifying Case**

_NEW YORK CITY _– Early Thursday morning, still in the hours of darkness, neighbors of Justin Harrington were woken up by several loud noises, what were later identified as gunshots. The bodies of Police Chief Manuel Gonzalez and Justin Harrington were found in the office of Mr. Harrington's mansion, both apparently shot in the chest; Chief Gonzalez once, but Mr. Harrington four times. Detective Albert Cardoso told reporters that Mr. Harrington was involved in the recent killings in the Central Park district, and when Chief Gonzalez came to question him, Mr. Harrington shot and killed the Chief, and in turn, was shot by officers Burcham and Hinson, who were with the Chief.

Furthermore, the killer was found dead also, in his apartment building on 84 Street. When Detective Cardoso arrived at the scene, the killer was already dead, apparently suicide. The man was Thomas Liddell, brother of Justin Harrington. Reporters were able to talk to the only target that survived this horrible incident. Miss Julia Hendrix, former wife to Justin Harrington, and lover to Thomas. She told reporters that Thomas had visited her on Wednesday, before he left her house and apparently went back to his house where he killed himself. "I had not seen him for nearly two years, so when he suddenly showed up at my door, I was surprised, to say the least. But I had no idea he was there to kill me." Luckily, Thomas had not attempted anything, as she claimed that he 'still had feelings for her.'

It was a sad and solemn day at the police station yesterday, and the mood will not change for a long time. Chief Gonzalez was a respected and well-loved man, and he will be missed. Preparations for his funeral are in the works and will be announced in the coming days.

* * *

_Four months later, November 9..._

It was almost 3:30 in the afternoon, as the little girl was skipping happily down the sidewalk of Madison Avenue. Her long, black hair fell down to her lower back as her pale skin glistened in the afternoon sun. She stopped at the corner and waited for the traffic light to turn red so she could walk across. She had remembered meeting someone a few months ago at this exact spot. She remembered him distinctly: his clothes, his voice, his face, everything.

She also remembered hearing about him on the news several days after she had met him. It made her sad to know that he killed people. She thought he was nice. At least he was to her. She even cried a bit when she found out. She looked up at the street light, seeing that it had just turned yellow, as she was ready to cross. And as it turned red, she took a step out onto the sidewalk. It was only a few more steps away when she heard someone call out to her.

"Mary Jane!"

It was the voice of a man coming from behind her. She knew the voice instantly; it was Thomas.

"Thomas!" She cried, as she jumped back to the sidewalk. And as soon as she moved away, a car came whizzing by, right over the spot where she was just standing. She turned and fell back on her butt from the wind caused by the speeding car. She looked around now; no one was there. As she stood up and brushed herself off, she called out again.

"Thomas?" Her voice was hinted with a bit of fear. She looked around once more, before she turned and began walking back in the other direction. Back home.


End file.
